


And My Love Blooms For You

by Umbry2000



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grammar Checked by our Lord and Savior Grammarly but I'm Poor and Can't Pay, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, Hopefully not terrible, Look Everyone's Here!, M/M, Non-Traditional Hanahaki, Small mentions of blood, Struggling with Tense, Way Too Many Tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27819478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbry2000/pseuds/Umbry2000
Summary: Hanahaki isn't always what it's made out to be.Or: An exploration of Hanahaki from each character's perspective, and what it means to them.
Relationships: Anna/Kratos Aurion, Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Genis Sage & Mithos Yggdrasill, Genis Sage/Mithos Yggdrasill (one-sided), Martel Yggdrasill & Mithos Yggdrasill, Presea Combatir & Alicia Combatir, Regal Bryant & Presea Combatir, Regal Bryant/Alicia Combatir, Seles Wilder & Zelos Wilder, Sheena Fujibayashi/Zelos Wilder, Yuan Ka-Fai/Martel Yggdrasill
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	And My Love Blooms For You

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe I wrote this in May? How time flies. 
> 
> This is a version of Hanahaki tied into the world of TOS because I am incredibly extra. Sorry if there are any grammar errors or OOC moments because I have been editing for so long and I am very done. (how does speech punctuation even _work_ )
> 
> I'm also going to link to [Futari De](https://youtu.be/EzOXqkYK_TU), a nekobolo song that I think just fits the theme. The full version isn't subbed so we'll just have to settle for the short future tone version.
> 
> Once again thanks to my friends for being so supportive, thank you for everything! Thank you to [YEDover9000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YEDover9000/pseuds/YEDover9000) and Marsh, and all of my other friends (who do not have accounts and cannot be named). Hopefully this is not too terrible ;

Hanahaki wasn't all it was made out to be.

Genis had heard the over-romanticised stories numerous times from his classmates: girls with moony smiles who whispered about how it was a show of true love, and boys who laughed it off as too cheesy even as they held curious glints in their eyes.

Hanahaki was none of those. 

Not to Genis, who had to hold the bowl in front of his sister every morning and night. Who had to watch her throw up forget-me-nots, as blue as their eyes. All of the flowers she hid in her throat during the school day, fighting to escape but held back through practice and pure willpower alone.

Flowers that would have been considered beautiful under any other circumstance, but which sent only shivers of fear and shame down his spine at the sight of those blue petals.

What did it say about them, he wondered, that this had long since grown routine? The Raine he’d known had always had roots embedded in her lungs as she mourned their parents' love. When he'd been too young to understand, she’d done much of this herself. Forced the flowers out in the morning and night, bent over the sink, hacking and choking. 

Some days, he was glad he hadn't known their parents after all. 

It was cruel, to desire a love so much that it was hurting her. A love that she could never receive, but whose phantom could never be forgotten.

On the days when Raine had to wash blood out of the sink, he wished they could be found, just so his sister could stop suffering like she had all these years. 

But that was nothing more than a childish dream. 

After all, there was no guarantee they were still loved.

Funny, that even though the girls from class all excitedly wished to meet someone with Hanahaki, clamouring on and on about how it would be so romantic, they would do nothing but shy away from the two of them if they knew the truth.

It was something they would always have to hide.

They'd lied and said they were elves, here in this world where being a half-elf was punished by death. They could never reveal the truth. 

For elves couldn’t get Hanahaki.

* * *

"Hanahaki, a disease where flowers grow in the lungs of the afflicted because they are experiencing unrequited love towards someone. While it is widely associated with romantic love, it can manifest due to familial love. It can even appear because of the deceased.”

“The speed at which the flowers grow and the severity of their effects differs greatly. Cases involving the deceased very rarely involve death, but instead remain for life. Death of the target of affection may sometimes cause the flowers to cease appearing entirely, though the roots remain in the lungs.” 

“Hanahaki can only be cured by having one's affections returned or removing the roots from the lungs entirely, which will render that emotion removed as well.”

“It seems that Hanahaki only affects some. It has never been seen among elves, only half-elves and those who carry their blood. It has been derided by the elves as another sign of tainted blood."

Sebastian watched silently as the Young Master closed the book, turning to stare sullenly out of the window at the dark streets of Meltokio. 

"So it's because I'm Chosen that I contracted this?" Zelos muttered.

"You had a higher chance, Young Master. It was simply unfortunate that you came to have it." Sebastian answered, knowing that wasn't the full truth.

The Young Master was too kind. Even after all the beatings, the screaming, the neglect, the Young Master continued to love his mother. 

Love her, even if she never loved him back, had never wanted him in the first place.

"And -" Zelos is interrupted by a rack of coughing, causing him to double over. Sebastian rushed over in concern, but Zelos straightened back up, wiping away the blood-red petals from his mouth. They looked almost like tiny little blood splatters. 

Like the blood that had to be wiped off Zelos’ face after he had been pulled, screaming, away from his mother’s dead body. 

"According to this, it'll get better, right? So it won't… kill me?"

_Oh, Zelos. Why is it that you don’t sound scared, but instead... sad?_

"If it hurts, Young Master, we can have it removed," Sebastian suggested, laying his hand gently on Zelos' shoulder.

Zelos flinched away, hand curling protectively over the blood-red petals. 

"No!" Zelos resolutely shook his head, turning desperate eyes on Sebastian. "If I have it… then it means there's a chance Mother loved me too, right? And I know it won’t do for the public to know, but I’ll hide it! I’ll hide it so well, no one else will ever know!”

Sebastian wanted to protest. To tell his Young Master that Hanahaki was nothing like all the romance novels made them out to be. It wasn't pure, but a twisted representation of love.

But faced with his Young Master's suddenly too bright eyes, he remembers that even though the Young Master sometimes seemed far older than his young age, there were times when he was still a child.

Still a child, desperately craving a mother's love. 

And who was he to deny his Master's wishes?

"As you wish, Young Master," Sebastian acquiesces, bowing and leaving.

He doesn't comment on the final whispered sentence that drifts across the quiet of the library.

"And if she loved me, then it wasn't my fault, right?"

* * *

Mithos has hated the sight of flowers since he'd come to understand where all the pretty ones his sister gave him came from. 

He doesn't understand how Martel can still love the Mother that drove them out of Heimdall, who had forced her to grow up far too early, to witness things no teenage girl should just so she could raise him safely.

Doesn’t understand how Martel can still have a smile on her face when she tells Yuan about Heimdall, about Ymir Forest, about her old home. It has never been home to him. Home is the warmth of Martel’s embrace, the stories she told him at night, and the words of praise she had for him whenever he learns a new spell. 

Well and truly doesn’t understand how she can look upon the yellow zinnias in her hands not with anger, but with a quiet sadness and nostalgia. 

To him, it’s meaningless: something to be forgotten and thrown away. Any association with Heimdall, with love, with romance. Especially Hanahaki, just another thing that the elves use to mock them, that the world uses to condemn them.

He tolerates the idiotic way Yuan courts his sister. He makes her happy, and that’s all Mithos wants. 

When the zinnias finally stop appearing in the middle of their journey to stop the war, he's happy. Relieved that, at long last, his sister would no longer have to carry this burden.

He doesn’t realise that it could have a deeper meaning, not until he realises how quiet his sister is being. Not until he notices the little concerned looks Kratos and Yuan keep directing her way, how Yuan keeps approaching her by the bonfire at night, much to his annoyance.

It takes him longer than it should, what with his distaste of Hanahaki, to realise that his parents are dead.

The people who brought him into this world were dead.

Was he meant to feel remorse for experiencing not a single ounce of grief?

He did not mourn his parents, for he had never known them. He had only ever known them as the source of crumpled yellow flowers and his sister’s lifelong pain.

How could she miss them?

She'd told him, with a gentle smile on her face as she'd placed the final flower in his hair, that he'd understand better when he was older.

Why she wanted to remember.

Now he understood.

How ironic, he thought, as he choked up the same zinnia, but red. He wondered if the shade matched the blood that had flowed freely from his sister’s body during her last moments. 

In the end, these accursed flowers had gotten him too. 

And he would never let them go. He would let the roots wind their way through his lungs and around his heart, again and again. He would collect each petal and flower, a keepsake of grief and pain. 

He would never let them go, not until she was back to put her arms around him and tell him - 

Tell him that she loved him and that everything was alright.

* * *

Yuan is intimately familiar with Hanahaki. He’s pulled many thousands of hyacinths out of his own throat over these long 4000 years, remembering green eyes: shining with tears, sparkling with happiness, and filled with the warmest love he had ever known. 

They were the same flowers he had given to Martel at her wedding. The same flowers that Kratos had helped braid into both their hairs. The same flowers that they had barely convinced a grumpy Mithos to wear in his hair. 

The same flowers which seemed to spill from his throat, on nights that he would sit in his office and rub at the worn ring around his finger and remember. 

And the same flowers he would lay at her grave, once this was all over. 

It’s one of the last things he has in common with Mithos, he supposes. The memories of a woman long dead and the flowers they bring. 

But now their intentions are the exact opposite, and he knows it won’t be long before they’re at each other’s throats. And on some nights, he wonders if there’ll be any flowers for Mithos.

There aren’t any now. That’s because Yuan knows that Mithos still loves. It’s the one thing that hasn’t changed. And holding onto that so desperately is what has warped Mithos so far beyond recognition. 

But once Mithos was dead, would there be any?

Flowers for the bright young boy who had been broken by the world at too young an age, who had been the little brother Yuan had never known he wanted. 

Would it be worse, since it would be by his hand?

But even then, with all his knowledge of Hanahaki, the sight of green flowers leaving what had once been his best friend still shocked him.

Green lilies. It had been so long since he’d thought Kratos was even capable of feeling anymore. To see him now, hair still wet from the storm, hands still stained with blood, choking up green lilies and unable to even cry, was a terrible shock. 

He knew now the answer to his question. It would be worse. Far, far worse.

If Martel could see them now, how would she feel? All of those she had loved, inexplicably linked by the roots sprouting in their lungs that once, only she had known.

He watched as Mithos’ lip curled in contempt, watched as Mithos laughed, a deranged sound that bore no likeness to the teasing, happy laughter of the 14-year-old boy he had once known. 

He watched and did nothing.

Nothing, as his friend closed in on himself, the flowers trickling to a stop as Kratos stopped feeling again. 

Stopped resembling anything human.

Martel had been the only one to look upon her affliction with a quiet fondness. Mithos saw it as a reminder to cling to. 

He wonders if Kratos sees it the same way as him.

Punishment. Punishment for failing to save Martel, for continuing to condemn her.

In the end, she'd been a better person than all three of them.

Hanahaki wasn’t something he would have wished upon Kratos. In some ways, he was glad that his friend had been spared the same suffering he and Mithos experienced.

But, watching him now, lifeless… 

Was it better to have loved and lost, or to not have loved at all?

* * *

“Zelos,” Seles said sharply, easily finding him in the side room of the Abbey. 

It was comical to her, the way Zelos tried to hide what he’d been doing with a look of panic on his face. Like it would be any use. She knew the signs better than anyone. 

“Who are the irises for?” She asked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. Faking disinterest even as she burned to know who it was that her brother could love like this.

“The…” Zelos trailed off, staring at the flowers in his hand. “Ah.” A look of relief flashed across his face, quickly hidden by a smirk. One she so hated, for it was nothing like the brother she’d known and every bit like the arrogant Chosen she heard so much about. “And who do you think they’re for, Seles?” 

She kicked the door, her lip curling. “Some random tramp who’s the latest to catch your attention, certainly. Don’t tell me it’s that witch.”

It’s far, far deeper than that. Hanahaki didn’t just appear for a fling. 

She laughed. “I wasn’t even aware you could feel love, _brother_.”

She fixed him with a stare, daring him to tell her the truth. The truth they both knew, deep down, but would never tell each other - 

He shrugged, an easy-going smile on his face. “Well, I’m certain of one thing: she’s a beauty!”

It was easier this way. She knew this, but still - 

“Not… going to ask about the rest?” He asked, his gaze challenging her the same way hers had, moments ago.

“I don’t need to. Knowing you, you’ve just fallen in love with three of your hunnies.” She answered, distaste dripping from her voice.

She doesn’t need to ask. She knew. She had still been there to watch him spit out the carnation petals, red as blood, a memory of the day their entire world had shattered. 

And the other… 

“Mm, well, not like I can help it!” And the Idiot Chosen was back. Seles couldn’t tell if she was thankful or not. Couldn’t tell whether she wanted to laugh or cry at the hint of relief in his voice. 

By the Church’s decree, they could never be siblings. One locked in a physical prison and another allowed to be free. How could they?

She couldn’t let go of the envy in her heart, the anger, to admit that all she wanted -

All she wanted was to be able to go home, to her brother. 

Even as she ignored the image of asters, fresh in her mind, she knows who they’re for. Even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself, even if her brother would never tell her the truth. They’re both the same, at the end of the day.

After all, she had never told him about the orange acacias she would cough up, day after day. 

They were a well-kept secret, and a fact to be denied.

* * *

"Sheena! You OK in there?" He asked politely, rapping on the door.

"I'm - " Sheena's reply was interrupted by a spate of coughing, and Orochi has to hold himself back from throwing the door open. He knows what he’ll see, and he wants so desperately to put a stop to it. 

The door slid open, and Sheena smiles at him. It’s a smile as fake as the ones she'd put on in the months after the Volt incident.

It’s nothing like the vibrant smiles he’d seen, the weeks when she'd still gone to Meltokio.

"I'm fine, Orochi. It's just a cold, I promise. You need to stop worrying about me!" 

"I'll always worry about you, Sheena. You're practically family. I'm sure Kuchinawa feels the same."

More, he wants to say. 

_I feel more for you than family. Or even just a friend._

He knows it's futile. The pink camellias she tried so hard to hide are not for him. How could they be? She’d never seen him as more than a childhood friend.

He remembers when she had complained about an idiotic boy with flaming red hair. How she had said such scathing words with bright eyes, shining with another emotion he hadn't wanted to name.  
When she had finally come home, dejected and withdrawn, and the coughing had begun.

Orochi wonders what he'll do if he ever sees the Chosen.

He wanted to wrap his hands around the other's throat, choke the life out of him the same way these flowers were slowly killing Sheena. 

But that would just make it worse, wouldn’t it?

He stood back and watched as Sheena left, calling for Corinne. Watched as she placed a single camellia behind the summon spirit's ear, a gentle expression on her face.

Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like if he could get Hanahaki.

Would it be enough to show that he did love her?

* * *

“Chosen.” 

"Mister Kratos?" Colette asked curiously, wondering why he was still awake. The night watch was hers tonight, he had no reason to stay up.

And even if she was spending most of it sitting next to Lloyd, it's not like she would fall asleep.

She couldn’t, not anymore.

Then again, neither does he.

"Kratos is fine, Chosen." His eyes are not on her but Lloyd. She wondered if she had imagined it: the hint of tenderness there.

"And we shouldn't talk here," Kratos said, eyes drifting up to hers. There was a knowing look in his eyes, one that told her that… That he knew.

Knew how she would nervously swallow past all the flowers gathering in her throat, knew how she continued to stick by Lloyd's side even if she shouldn't, even if just the sight of him made her heart soar as the pain in her chest worsened.

How, she didn’t know. But even as they moved further towards the forest, she continued to swallow. To swallow hard against the flowers stuck in her throat in her last-ditch attempt to conceal them.

She remembered when she'd first coughed up a gerbera daisy, the very night before she’d left for the Journey of Regeneration. The night before she would leave Lloyd behind forever.

So that he could be safe. 

So that he could forget her, could move on and be happy in the world that she had saved. 

She remembered clutching it to her chest under the moon, glad that even if she never got to see him again, she would at least have this reminder of him. The daisy from the fields that he used to weave into flower crowns, just for her. 

She'd been terrified when, all of a sudden, there he was, running towards her in the middle of the Triet Desert. How she'd run toward him, her traitorous heart leaping -

The sharp pain as the daisies had made their presence known, and how she'd had to swallow them back down even as she'd thrown her arms around him, wanting to hold him close and never let go.

Because she would have to let go, eventually, and walk away. Because he could never know she loved him, for she did not want to burden him with that knowledge. And if there was one thing she was glad of, it was that she would offer up her life for Sylvarant before the flowers claimed it. 

They would be her pretty little secret, taken to her grave. The final acknowledgement of her love, as well as punishment for having dared to love him at all.

She had been born to become an angel, after all, and angels did not love mortals. 

"You don't have to hide, Chosen." 

She watched in astonishment as he gently coughed up a green lily, beautiful and dainty.

_Oh._

She gave up the pretence then, bending over and hacking up dozens of petals, followed by full daisies. It hurt, as they forced their way through her throat.

It hurt, and she deserved it.

But still, it was a relief to finally be rid of them. Here, under the moon once again. 

She continued to cough up petals, surprise filling her as she felt Kratos’ hand gently rub her back. 

It’s another moment of surprising kindness from the taciturn mercenary. It’s these little moments that kept sticking out to her, that didn’t quite add up to the image of an uncaring mercenary that only came along for the monetary reward. 

She wiped her mouth free of the final petals. “What are your flowers for?” She asked, wondering if he would even answer and what that answer could be.

One of hope, despair, guilt or love. 

“Atonement. They used to be a sign of atonement, for failing. A sign of the sin I had committed.”

She wondered if one day, both of them could be allowed to look upon her flowers without pain constantly twisting at their hearts.

She caught the gentle smile, the gaze back towards the campsite. 

“It’s a reminder. Of what I have to protect.”

She thinks, much, much later, that the answer had always been obvious.

* * *

They may think that all he does is flirt shamelessly and act like a fool, but he’s always been watching. Observing, silently.

Zelos knew Colette suffered from the same. The way she looked at Lloyd, the errant coughs she hid or explained away, reminded him so much of himself. It just made him want to get away, to not have to look upon a sight as pitiful as this, knowing that he’s worse. 

So he covered up his pain with jokes and idiotic actions, attracting attention even as no one ever really saw him.

No one ever noticed the time he spent spitting up petals and full flowers, one after another, blood mixed in with the reds, whites and blues. 

He suspected Raine might have it as well, from some of the subtle movements she did. The silent communication she and Genis did sometimes, in that strange way only two people who intimately knew each other could. He envies them, for it’s something he and Seles never had. 

Raine is far more skilful at hiding it, however. He almost didn’t pick up on it. How long has she had to practice?

How long has she had to hurt, with the roots snaking their way through her lungs, flowers catching on her throat as they forced their way out -

Had she ever felt the same way? Watched the flowers come up one by one and realised they were killing him now: the love he felt for three people who would never love him back. Knowing he didn’t deserve their love, but continuing to desire it anyway, even if that desire would eventually kill him. 

And wasn’t that what it meant to be human? To desire the things one could never have?

Sometimes, he just wanted the whole world to go away. He would contemplate what life would be like if everyone truly were lifeless. No love, no hate, nothing - 

He laughed, on the nights he couldn’t sleep, where every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the snow, stained red with blood.

On the nights he could no longer sleep, the Cruxis Crystal seeming to burn against his skin. 

He would laugh, thinking about Sheena. How she had always prided herself on her ability to pick up on the subtle things. And yet, she had never realised the truth.

And he would keep it that way.

And sometimes, in the true dead of night, he would think about the tiny little moments where it seemed like Sheena -

But no, that couldn’t be right. 

She could never love him, for he had broken her fragile heart, long ago. She felt nothing but hatred toward him now, as he had made it.

As he had desired it. As he deserved.

* * *

“Presea…?” 

Presea clutched the gladiolus petals to her chest, not willing to turn around. 

It’s too much, sometimes, to think about how she had missed 16 years of her life. Had missed the death of her sister, and that sometimes, not even that fact could make her cry. 

What kind of a monster was she, now? Certainly nothing more than the product of an experiment, emotionless and unfeeling. 

"Presea. Are you alright?"

"Yes," she answered curtly.

She was. And that was the problem. She shouldn't be alright. She should be feeling something, anything, and yet she couldn’t.

"Presea…"

She wanted to ask Regal to go away. She doesn't want to be comforted, not by her sister's murderer.

But Alicia had forgiven him, had told Presea that she had never blamed him for her death. 

But she had nothing to hold onto, nothing to ground her…

"Presea." Regal's hand uncurled her fingers to reveal the tiny pink petals that she had been hiding.

Why had she been hiding them? Even Presea herself didn’t know. 

How could Regal, the one who had killed the last family she had in this world, understand her so well?

"These flowers. They show me that you still love. You love Alicia, just as much as you did before. Even if you don't understand yourself anymore, they speak the truth."

"You're still human, Presea."

It's under Regal's gentle gaze that she began to cry, once again.

The first tears that had left her eyes since she had learned of her sister's death. She had not cried since, not when she'd learned the truth of this world, not when she'd learned Colette was dying, not even after seeing Altessa be hurt so badly.

Her tears flowed down her face, dripping upon the petals in her hand.

* * *

Mithos wondered how many flowers a body could hold.  
He’d gotten used to holding the petals and flowers down. It had become as familiar as breathing to him. That was what happened when you’d lived with them for so long.

Every time he met with Zelos, he could tell that the other was struggling to hold in his own, swallowing hard and having difficulty talking. 

Ah. Whoever it is must still be alive, then. 

He didn’t know if he felt sympathy or pity when he found Zelos choking up a myriad of petals, striking in their varied colour.

Didn’t know how to feel when Genis made him laugh one day, only for that familiar feeling in his throat to intensify. Only, to his horror, to cough out morning glory petals, mixed with the normal magenta zinnia, in the safety of his quarters. 

The same colour as Genis’ eyes. How pretty.

How tragic. 

It would never work. If he succeeded…

He’d be lucky if Genis only hated him.

What would Hanahaki be like, if the other hated him? How fast would the roots curl through his lungs and choke him?

Mithos laughed, staring at the petals and the blood on his palm. 

Would it be so bad if they did in the end?

* * *

Lloyd had wondered, many times, what it meant to get Hanahaki. 

He hadn’t understood what had been so bad about getting Hanahaki, the few times he’d overheard his schoolmates talk about it in overexcited tones. A bit of gossip among the students after stray petals had been found, innocent talk that always arose among those who didn’t understand.

Learning about Colette’s suffering throughout the Journey of Regeneration, the sacrifices that she was to make, only made his heart ache for her more. But still, there was no sign of any petals.

Maybe he couldn’t get Hanahaki. Or maybe, just maybe…

He didn’t love her. That thought terrified him, made him want to blurt out his fears to Colette. There was nothing she couldn’t understand, couldn’t reassure him through. Her kind smile always made all his fears wash away.

But she was the one person Lloyd could never tell. 

He hadn’t understood as he did now.

He’d seen Kate throw up bloody bittercress over her father, who didn’t love her simply because she was a half-elf. Had seen the stray petals spilling from Mithos’ lips as he screamed outside Altessa’s house, deranged and broken over a love torn from him. Knew who Kratos’ flowers were for, and why they were there. 

He wondered what it would be like, for them to squeeze through his own throat. 

But just because he can’t get Hanahaki doesn’t mean he loves less. He understands that much now, at least. 

On the balcony overlooking Flanoir, he watched the snow as Colette came up beside him. She’s more beautiful than any sight, with the gentle smile on her face that had saved him so many times, that had convinced him to keep going, to rebel against a world that had accepted the Chosen’s death as their salvation. 

Because he would do anything to see that smile again.

Under the moon, as he spilt his worries, helpless to those warm blue eyes, he wonders if he doesn’t already know what it’s like to have Hanahaki. 

Sometimes, it already felt like he loved her too much to the point that it’s choking him. Drowning under its weight every time he saw her, wanting to tell her but holding himself back. 

He had already failed her once when he had left all of the responsibility of the Regeneration Journey to her. He didn’t deserve her.

So he would stay by her side, protect her, and keep the truth to himself.

His little flower of love to nurture, but never reveal.

* * *

Genis remembered, vividly. A night with the moon bright in the sky. When he’d found Mithos coughing up petals outside Altessa’s house. 

Mithos had brushed off his worries, had said with a sad smile that they were for his sister. The sister who had died, who could no longer love him. 

Genis had felt sorrow, knowing Mithos would have to live with it for the rest of his life.

He hadn’t truly known how long that had been. 

And he hadn’t known who the morning glory was for. He’d looked up their meaning, and then promptly decided that was Mithos’ business. If Mithos wanted to say something, he would. Genis wouldn’t force him.

Genis laughed, now, as he choked up alstroemeria, still cradling Mithos’ shattered Cruxis Crystal.

How different in meaning they were.

* * *

“Alicia.” Presea quietly uttered her sister’s name, kneeling next to her grave on the rooftop of the Lezareno company.

“Here,” she whispered, placing her bouquet down. A bouquet composed entirely of gladiolus. Certainly not a typical bouquet, but one that expressed what she wanted to.

“Thank you for your forgiveness, Alicia,” Regal said, placing his hand on the gravestone. 

They stay there and remember. 

Presea knew she would live with the pink petals forever.

But as Regal had told her, they were reminders she was human, that she could still feel. And she’s done being held back. Just like Regal had found the strength to move forward, so would she, clutching these flowers with all the strength she had as she stumbled through life, relearning what it was to live.

And she would use these flowers as a way to remember her sister. Her kindness, her forgiveness, her strength.

Her sister, who even through pain and grief, had loved and been loved.

* * *

In the end, he had been an idiot, like everyone loved to say. Like Sheena always said. 

How had he never picked up the true meaning behind those words? He had always been loved.

Zelos didn’t know if he’d ever be happier than the day Sheena shyly offered him a single pink camellia, blushing but smiling, content.

He’d never seen a cuter sight.

It’s a little ugly afterwards, of course, when they both end up coughing out flowers and roots for hours.

But they're there for each other throughout, and at least they understand each other now. At least he can openly tell her everything he’s hidden, all the times he’s wanted to gently tuck her hair behind her ears, all the times he’s wanted to hold her in his arms and let her cry. 

In the end, he goes home. Home, which is not the Wilder Mansion in Meltokio, where he had experienced nothing but cold and lonely days with his parents. 

He goes home. To Sebastian’s constant, steadfast presence; to his sister, with her sharp tongue but sad eyes. 

When he reaches the Abbey, Seles greets him at the entrance, a hopeful smile on her face as she gave him a bracelet of orange acacia, carefully and deftly tied together.

Huh. They had the same idea. 

He placed a flower crown of asters on her head, something he hadn’t done since they were children, playing together in springtime. 

He watched his sister’s eyes well up before she stumbled into his open arms, beginning to sob as she hugged her brother for the first time in years. 

He knew he’d have red carnations in his lungs for the rest of his life. 

He knew, and he could not care less.

Sheena had finally managed to beat it into him, in all her righteous fury: it wasn’t his fault, what happened on that snowy night years ago. 

He would live and love, and keep these carnations as a reminder. To never become his parents, frozen in hatred and unable to love.

* * *

“Genis, are you ready?” Raine called, rapping her knuckles on the door.

“Yeah, sis, I’m ready!” Genis called back, opening the door. 

Raine smiled, glad to see her brother looking happier, now. More at peace with the alstroemeria in his hand. Just like she was more at peace with the forget-me-nots that she would still occasionally cough up. 

But she was more fortunate than most. Her mother was still alive. Even if she no longer remembered them, she was still here in this world. Maybe one day, Raine could find it in herself to forgive her mother. Maybe one day, their mother would be able to love them again. 

And she hoped, one day, that Genis could come to terms with the flowers within his own heart. It was better, after all, to use them as a way to remember with fondness, rather than to regret.

* * *

Everyone had gathered in the Church of Martel, with wide smiles and happy faces. Sheena, with pink camellias in her hair, hands linked with Zelos, whose hair was braided with white irises. The matching ring on both of their hands glinted in the sunlight coming through the skylight. 

Genis, leaning against his sister and laughing as he gestured in the air, with a bracelet of alstroemeria, while Raine had a single forget-me-not tucked behind her ear. 

Presea, silently enjoying Regal’s company, with a bouquet of gladiolus sitting in her lap.

Lloyd stood at the end of the aisle, nervously fiddling with the suit that Dirk had made for him, staring at the floor.

Waiting, a single flower gripped in his hand. 

The night that he'd finally got up the courage to tell her he loved her, to believe that he was worth enough, he'd expected a gentle rejection.

It was horrifying for him when Colette's eyes had widened at his words, tears gathering at their corners before she'd doubled over and begun coughing up flowers at an alarming speed.

He'd finally realised that Colette had Hanahaki, that she had been suffering alone again without him knowing. Because of him.

Was it his fault again?

She’d straightened with the happiest smile he’d ever seen on her face, eyes shining, before she’d hugged him. Whispered “thank you”, over and over again.

It had taken a while to get the message through. That it wasn’t his fault. Because that simply was not how Hanahaki worked. That was what she’d come to understand, and what she wanted him to know. 

If anyone could convince someone of anything, he mused, it was Colette.

He snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of footsteps. Lloyd turned, breath catching at the sight of Colette, resplendent and beautiful, in a dress of pure white with poppies braided into her hair. 

She walked up the aisle until she was right in front of him, happy. Waiting.

He tucked the single gerbera daisy in his hand behind her ear, kissing her on the cheek. 

Remembered the first time he’d thought she was beautiful, sitting among the plain of daisies and laughing with his flower crown lying lopsided on her head.

A flower to represent the purity of love.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” she whispers back, a wide smile on her face.

And he believed that everything would be alright and that everything had been worth it.

* * *

To some, the flowers were a symbol of undying love, to be looked upon with fondness. To others, they were nothing more than a curse.

All of them had lived, with or without flowers within their lungs.

They'd loved, lost, and found their way.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious about the flower identities and their specific meanings, here's a list for you!
> 
> **Flower List**
> 
>   * Raine: Forget-me-nots, I will not forget
>   * Zelos: Dark red carnations, a mother’s love; White Iris, devotion; Aster, wishing things could have gone differently
>   * Seles: Orange Acacia, concealed love
>   * Sheena: Pink Camellias, longing
>   * Martel: Yellow Zinnia, daily remembrance
>   * Mithos: Magenta Zinnia, lasting affection; Morning Glory, love in vain
>   * Yuan: Hyacinth, loss and regret
>   * Kratos: Green lilies, devotion
>   * Colette: Gerbera Daisies, purity and innocence
>   * Genis: Alstroemeria, friendship
>   * Presea: Gladiolus, loss but also a remembrance of strength
> 

> 
> This was very much inspired by the [Colette wedding alt from Asteria](https://64.media.tumblr.com/cccfa5e3bd034098d02826f927fd993c/tumblr_ps9cx5Bla21td7x41o2_250.png) (sorry in advance for the terrible quality of this image). She is so cute... This was originally written as a Colloyd Hanahaki fic and ballooned _way_ out of proportion.
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Umbry2000)! And yes I write in very short paragraphs. I am trying my best :( I am also aware that statistically, this many people in close proximity should not have Hanahaki but um well. (Edit: The link was broken)


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